


Kiss Me While I Drive

by thirtyfourthirtyfive



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Human, Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, Coworkers - Freeform, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gangs, Girl Derek, Mental Illness, Minor Character Death, Misogyny, Mutilation, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Sex, Sexism, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27395821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirtyfourthirtyfive/pseuds/thirtyfourthirtyfive
Summary: Curiosity doesn't only kill cats.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Original Male Character(s), Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> ATTENTION:
> 
> (1) Do not read this fic without reading every single one of the tags.
> 
> (2) Do not skip the chapter notes. They contain the trigger warnings that I couldn't put in the tags without spoiling it. If you don't want to read the trigger warnings because of spoilers, PLEASE take this general warning very seriously.
> 
> (3) Gore, rape, and child abuse are tagged FOR A REASON. This fic gets extremely graphic. It starts off very mildly, but don't be lured into a false sense of security. There are parts of this I don't even want to proof read.
> 
> /// 
> 
> Title: I Don't Care If You're Contagious - Pierce The Veil

The day starts beautifully. A lovely cab ride due to a flat tire. Screaming in public because a bee flies at her hair. And most recently, knocking an entire cup of paper clips off her desk.

Derek freezes as she hears the door to her office open, then the door to the wood panel partition. “Your partner is one of our best.” Fuck, _fuck_. Today is the day Jordan’s replacement arrives. “Hale?” Adrian’s voice carries tensely through the room, having assumed Derek’s fucked off somewhere rather than doing her work as if Derek isn’t the most responsible employee to walk the planet. She’s worked there for a while now, and with the uncomfortable amount of attention he pays her, he should know how seriously Derek takes her job.

Derek backs out from under her desk, slowly emerging so that only her wide hazel eyes peek over the surface. She makes eye contact with her boss first, then her vision shifts over to the new guy. She tries as hard as she can to repress her scowl, but it evidently shows by the amused look on Stiles’ face.

Derek can’t fucking believe what she’s seeing. She’d been under the impression that moving away after high school would mean she wouldn’t have to see the stupid fucking faces of any of those kids ever again. Up until this point, it’d been working.

Derek pulls herself the rest of the way off the floor, dusting off her knees. She doesn’t exactly appreciate the way Adrian leers at her as if he’s had a similar fantasy about her on her knees. Derek knows he’s attracted to her. That’s how she got the job. So what if she chose to grow her wavy black hair to her waist and left the top couple buttons of her blouse undone for the interview? It’s a small price to pay for some semblance of a normal life. Derek would go mad without something to do during the day, and she’s more than competent in her chosen career. If men choose to focus on her looks, that’s their problem. She’s always happy to outperform them when they need reminding that she’s more than a pretty face.

“Stilinski,” the girl greets curtly, glossy pink, heart-shaped lips uttering his name as if she’s known him over multiple lifetimes. Stiles can’t help but let his eyes wander down her body. It should be impossible for someone to look as good as she does with her tits popping out of her frilly white blouse, black pencil skirt and belt cinched around her waist accenting her hips and thighs. Her legs alone almost do him in, and he’s only able to see her toned calves that benefit from her strappy black stilettos. Her toes are painted the same angelic shade of pink as her lips, and Stiles has never been into feet before, but he would gladly touch hers.

“Do I know you?” Stiles asks with a smirk, trying to flirt as discreetly as possible.

Derek doesn’t think it’s very discreet, though, as he stares at her feet like a _freak_. Then again, Stiles never has been as inconspicuous as he believes himself to be, his absence of a verbal filter and lack of a functioning vestibular apparatus drawing more attention to him than the average person. He’s just lucky he’s a good liar who can talk himself out of trouble. And that his dad is a cop.

“Stiles,” she says flatly, his attention snapping from her feet to her face. Thank _fuck_.

Fuck, maybe he does know her. His eyes travel all over her face, squinting as he tries to place a name to all of her beautifully sharp features. It’s only when she fully scowls at him in annoyance that a nearly forgotten face shoves its way out of his long term memory. He’s only ever known one person who could convey that much disdain with a simple shift of their eyebrows, and it most definitely can’t be this bombshell in front of him.

“Derek?”

Derek just raises her carefully groomed eyebrows as if to say ‘yeah you fucking idiot’.

“Holy-” Stiles stutters remembering his boss in the room because he’s at work and it’s his first day and he can’t afford to screw up. Some people don’t have corporate lawyers for parents so they have to pay their own bills. Some people are fifty thousand dollars in debt, and need five grand to fix their car that died three months ago. Some people have to pay two hundred dollars a month for focalin because adderall is too expensive. It’s Stiles. Stiles is some people. “-wow. You’ve changed.”

“Not really,” Derek shrugs, the casual movement at odds with her prim and proper appearance.

“Do you two know each other?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answers before she can. “We practically grew up together.” And Derek wouldn’t exactly put it like _that_. Yes, they lived in the same town and went to all the same schools, but they didn’t do anything ‘together’. In fact, she could say he did the opposite, avoiding her at all costs as did everyone because she was the freak who had a mental breakdown in seventh grade and buzzed all her hair off a la Britney Spears— and also the silly little thing with her being angry all the time. Derek’s temper got her in trouble a lot, and nobody wanted a friend who was smiling at you one minute and screaming at you the next. Stiles was no exception. As much as he liked to believe he was open-minded and an outcast, he really wasn’t. He mostly just asked intrusive questions ‘out of curiosity’ and clung to his friend Scott so tightly that he completely missed anyone else’s attempts to befriend him.

“High school sweethearts?” Adrian jokes, although Derek can clearly tell he’s probing for information through their reactions to his stupid question. Pretentious fuck hasn’t worked up the nerve to just ask Derek on a date so every few months he fires her partners for reasons he won’t tell her, then shows up a week later with a new person. Derek thinks it’s because he’s afraid she’ll get attached to them romantically. How pathetic. Doesn’t he know that no one’s good enough for her? Including him.

Derek snorts at this, taking a seat in her soft desk chair. “Hilarious as always, Mr. Harris.” He’s invited her to call him Adrian several times, but sometimes she just likes to call him mister because it gets him all worked up for some unholy reason, which is a sure fire way to distract him.

“Well,” the man coughs, pulling on the top of his pants and his belt as if Derek doesn’t know he’s trying to readjust his swelling cock to a less noticeable position. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Work on getting that back-up server sorted.”

The second the door closes, Derek turns back to her middle computer screen, typing in a line of code.

“Ahem,” Stiles says, and it’s somehow the most annoying thing he could have possibly said. Only highfalutin pricks ask for someone’s attention by saying ‘ahem’. Derek would know. She’s been around enough of them.

Derek only spares him a glance, raising her eyebrows to tell him to continue.

“It’s been a while.”

She briefly thinks of that one Staind song, shooing it out of her head before it can get stuck. “Only four years.”

“Apparently a lot can change in four years.”

“For some people,” Derek quips, eyes flickering over the gelled bedhead Stiles has sported since he started getting actual haircuts in junior year instead of buzzing his head every few weeks. He’s not wearing one of his signature oversized flannels, but she can still see the ‘Straight Outta Fucks’ t-shirt through the thin material of his white button down. He’s just a taller, broader version of what he was in high school. The loss of baby fat leaves his cheekbones sharper than ever, amber eyes ringed with dark, tired circles. He looks worn down, but even that doesn’t seem to put a damper on the sex appeal he’d apparently tripped and fallen face first into since the last time Derek saw him. Maybe if he hadn’t screwed up with her back in the day, she could cross getting fucked over her desk off her bucket list. The newly installed partition that separates the room into two offices conveniently blocks her desk from the security cameras.

“Don’t tell me you’re still holding a grudge against me. Are you seriously still on that?”

Derek rolls her eyes, pushing her keyboard away from her as she leans back in her chair. “Don’t be so conceited. We’re adults now.” Kind of. “I’d just rather keep this professional. No need to reminisce.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles agrees, with this _tone_ to his voice like he doesn’t really believe their professionalism is going to last long. Which it won’t if he crosses her.

“Yeah, okay,” Derek retorts firmly.

“Okay then.”

“Okay.”

Derek waits for him to leave, trying to ignore the way he stares at her as she continues to type. When he doesn’t go away, she turns to him. “Your agenda is on your desk. I was kind enough to do a write-up for you. It tells you everything you need to know for today.”

This time he just smirks and thanks her before moving to his side of the partition. Douche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get comfortable after that pleasant first chapter. The first part of this story is a butterknife, the second half is a chainsaw.
> 
> P.S. Some chapters are longer than others. I just wanted the story to flow as organically as possible, so if an update is really short, that's why.
> 
> P.S.S. Derek is a girl because it suits the story as it was originally written. Not because I wanted to make it het.


	2. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings for this chapter. In the future, I'll put all of them in the end notes if there are any.

Working with Stiles is fucking awful. All he does is slow her down. He’s constantly asking questions and when he’s not, he’s telling her he’s heading off for smoke breaks. He must smoke six times a day. And that’s only that she knows of.

Derek would say she has no idea why, but being in such close proximity to him she’s picked up on how skittish he is now. Not with her of course. He loves to terrorize her, but with other people. Men in particular. It’s not like he’s scared or anything, but he has a major inferiority complex. His complex doesn’t manifest in aggression but rather submission, so he avoids eye contact and does as told, a far cry from the fearless rule breaker he was in high school. Lucky for him, he rarely has to correspond face-to-face with anyone other than Derek and Mr. Harris, occasionally. So he just smokes the anxiety away on Derek’s goddamn time.

“Stiles, did you finish analyzing the user reports?”

When Derek doesn’t get an answer, she angrily pokes her head around the partition, growling to herself when her partner is nowhere to be seen. Unfortunately for him, she knows exactly where he is, marching herself to the elevator.

She presses the button for the top floor, white stiletto tapping angrily on the tile as it carries her upwards. Once she gets off the elevator, she sucks up any disdain for the two flights of stairs required to get to the roof. He better be glad she’s not in the mood to murder as she has to make the ascent in four inch heels. She violently shoves open the door, it banging against the outer wall with a loud crash.

Stiles jumps, visibly shaken, before he notices it’s her and relaxes. “What’s going on? Why are you all-” He flaps his non-cigarette holding hand at her before giving up on trying to find the right words. “-you know? Like that?”

The wind whips through her perfectly combed hair, the almost wet air heavy on her skin. If it rains on her chiffon blouse because she was on the roof trying to get her coworker to stop fucking off, she’s going to tear it off and strangle him with the sleeves.

“Stiles, we have work to do. I’m not keen on staying after work tonight to catch up. I have plans.”

“A date?” Stiles teases, clearly not understanding the willpower it takes for Derek not to drag him to the edge of the building and chuck him off the side. She’s usually very calm and collected nowadays, but something about Stiles brings out the worst in her. Well, not so much the _worst_ , but he certainly isn’t doing himself any favors by being an obstinate prick when Derek already has a negative predisposition toward his presence.

“None of your business,” Derek replies. “However, the four hundred user reports about crashes that need to be analyzed along with two hundred reports of hacking _are_ your business, so pick whichever you want and get it done.”

“Chill, Der. It’ll get done.”

“My name is Derek,” is all she replies before slamming the door behind herself.

Luckily, Stiles isn’t five minutes behind her, settling at his desk. Derek’s eye twitches when he starts to hum a Bon Jovi song, but she forces her annoyance down. At least he’s working.

••••

“I’m headed out,” Derek informs him as she scoots past his chair with her bag and umbrella.

He doesn’t look up from the screen, just chuckles. “Have fun on your date.”

“I’m seeing my father.”

“Have fun on your date,” he repeats, this time as a joke.

Derek feels a twinge somewhere inside her at his stupid joke, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

••••

Dinner is… nice. Her father knows her well enough so by the time she retires to her childhood room she’s well-fed and exhausted. She isn’t willing to make an hour and a half trek back to her loft at this time of night anyway. Driving through the woods at night is dangerous.

Derek has just closed her eyes when she hears a buzz from her nightstand. She would let it go to voicemail, but that’s not the kind of person she is so she answers it with her eyes still closed.

“Hale.”

“Derek, I have a problem.”

Derek loudly groans into the receiver, hoping it conveys how thoroughly over him she is.

“Don’t be like that.”

“I was almost asleep, you prick,” Derek grumbles into the phone, sleepy tongue lacking her usual filter.

“I emailed you,” he says, not acknowledging her rude language, yet she can still hear the amusement in his voice. She doesn’t need to see the smirk on his obscenely shaped lips to know it’s there.

“ _Whyyyy_ ,” Derek whines like a toddler, throwing a bit of a fit as she crawls out of her huge, plush bed. Stiles literally ruins everything. She slaps her work laptop on her old desk, the fan whirring gently as it comes to life.

“Someone’s having a bit of a moment,” Stiles snickers down the line, and Derek can just envision the way the corners of his mouth pull down as he gives a stifled, impish laugh. “Are you on your–“

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll rip your throat out. With my teeth.”

“Is that a threat? Do I need to go to HR?” he teases.

“You need to go to hell.”

Derek’s eyes skim over the email, trying to make sense of the issue with the chunk of code he claims isn’t working to resolve one of the crash issues.

“Feisty. I should call you this late more often. You have an actual personality.”

Derek doesn’t respond, copying and pasting the text into a computer program that makes it easier to read by highlighting the components in different colors.

“So you were sleeping?” Stiles probes, just being annoying at this point. “I can just see you all snuggled up in teddy bear pyjamas and bunny slippers.”

“I sleep naked,” Derek retorts just to throw him for a loop. She absolutely does _not_ sleep naked. She’s got this irrational fear something will get caught in her vagina. Like lint or a bug.

Stiles audibly stutters, treading lightly as he asks his next question. “Are you.... naked.... right now?”

“Yep,” Derek replies, finally spotting where he was missing part of the code. It looks like he tried to copy and paste everything together haphazardly, which makes Derek wonder how he even got the job to begin with.

“Oh.”

“I’m fucking with you,” Derek says after a second. She can’t help the little smirk that appears on her face as she can hear the breath of air he lets out.

“Well played, Derek. Well played. Also please refrain from using that language as I am a man of god–“

She doesn’t wait for a reply, hanging up on him before she shoots him the email. She doesn’t sleep naked. Just in her panties.


	3. THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings for this chapter.

A low whistle sounds in front of her as she closes the trunk of her car on Monday. Derek’s head whips up finding Stiles and one of their other coworkers, Heather, making their way toward them. Stiles, as always, has a cigarette hanging from his lips, a crisp white button up and khakis as his attire for the day.

Heather is one of the secretaries, another one of the many beautiful women Adrian surrounds himself with simply because of their looks. Derek means no offense to this girl, but when it comes down to it, Adrian isn’t nearly as invested in Heather as he is her. She’s cute. Very short, average figure. Wide brown eyes. But she lacks true confidence and poise, clomping around in gaudy high heels with her shoulders slumped and her eyes tight, probably from the social anxiety she spends every waking moment fighting against, pumping an unnatural amount of cheer into her voice to cover up the mortification of being perceived.

Derek likes to think she herself commands attention. Shoulders back, chest out, walk with your hips. These are all things she’s been told by the models she’s come to know through her father and his friends. It’s not necessarily something you would do on a runway, but it’s professional advice that has yet to fail her. She hasn’t bought her own drinks in two years, and she’s only been legal for one.

“How on earth did you get your hands on this beauty? _Goddamn_.”

She shrugs. “It was a present.”

“Derek,” Stiles says with an incredulous look. “This is a four million dollar car.”

Heather gasps at this fact, which even Derek wasn’t aware of until he said it. She knew it was guard with her life expensive but not _that_ expensive. She was thinking almost a mil maybe. Someone must really love her, she thinks smugly to herself.

“Damn, that’s crazy,” Derek replies boredly.

“Do you have a sugar daddy or something? Are you engaged to a Saudi millionaire? I need a Saudi millionaire,” Heather sighs all in one breath.

“You don’t want a Saudi millionaire,” Derek scoffs, walking with them down the stairs. The top level of the parking garage is only accessible by keycard, so Stiles’ bike-riding presence can only be explained by Heather who drives a cute red Porsche. Derek would give a fuck about what they were doing together, but she doesn’t really care what he does with his life outside of the office.

“Know a lot of Saudi millionaires?” Stiles jokes, eyes widening when Derek replies “a few”.

She really does, and they’re not that pleasant to be around. They’re fun for a gathering, but she’d commit if she had to live with one. She knows firsthand how hard it is. Millionaires are a pain in the ass. Billionaires are even worse, and they’re not even fun.

“ _What_ have you been getting up to since high school, Derek Hale?”

“For all you know, I was doing this _in_ high school. Just nobody cared enough to notice.”

Stiles grimaces at her comment, a guilty look on his face that’s wiped away by Heather’s snort. He should feel guilty. He should feel shame.

“In high school, I was just waiting for George Mason to notice my haircut. You guys have such interesting lives.”

“Yeah, well. We’re risk takers,” Stiles smirks at Heather as Derek follows them into the elevator. The bottle blonde blushes at that, tucking a meticulously curled piece of hair behind her ear. Derek wants to laugh, but she holds her pokerface. Going after pretty rich girls is such a Stiles thing to do. Blondes with self-esteem issues are such a Stiles things to do. (See _Erica Reyes in junior year_ for reference.)

Derek can’t help the snicker that escapes at that thought as she remembers the way Erica used to come to school in these ridiculous miniskirts that showed her ass every time she bent over. She never found out, but people used to call her Coinslot behind her back because seeing her pussy wasn’t a rare occurrence.

And because she was only 25 cents to ride.

“What’s funny?” Stiles asks from behind her, and she can’t see his face but she knows he’s a little miffed that she ruined his and Heather’s moment.

“I can’t say,” Derek smirks, shortly before a full laugh bubbles out of her throat. Derek knows she’s mean sometimes, but honestly it’s better than being the vulnerable little bitch she used to be.

“Aw, I wanna know,” Heather pouts, Derek turning around to her just as the doors open on the ground level. She waves Heather in, since they’re close as far as work friends go, using her hand to block Stiles from reading her lips as she whispers the Stiles having a thing for blondes part in her ear.

Heather barks out a laugh then, sparing Stiles a glance before laughing harder.

“Oh come on. This is bullying,” Stiles says, trying to hide the fact that he’s actually becoming irate. Derek knows him better than to fall for the tight smile he puts on.

“It’s just a bit of girl talk,” Heather giggles as they all step out.

“Tampons n all that,” Derek adds just to be a dick.

“Tell me then. I know plenty about tampons.” Derek and Heather burst into another fit of laughter at this. Stiles realizes his mistake, backtracking quickly. “I was friends with a couple girls in high school. I’m not scared of them,” he adds.

“Aw, really,” Heather swoons suddenly causing Derek to roll her eyes and walk a little faster than them. He did have a couple girl friends, and the last time Derek saw them they were crowded around him crying in the school gym after graduation.

Derek leaves them behind, not interested in hearing them flirt.

Stiles takes a couple minutes to join her in their office, shortly followed by Adrian who walks right past Stiles and hands a stack of files to Derek.

“I’ve got a special assignment for you two. You get to head to the Burbank location and train a new employee,” he says to her.

“And me?”

The man tears his eyes away from the top of Derek’s emerald blouse long enough to grunt, “You observe,” at him.

Derek can’t help but snicker to herself as the man leaves. She’s in a rather good mood this morning. She just found out she drives a four million dollar car.

“Why doesn’t he trust me? I guess all I am to him is a pretty face,” Stiles quips, and his implied little jab doesn’t go unnoticed.

“He doesn’t trust you because you come to work in slacks and Superstars.”

Stiles shuffles his Adidas-clad feet around with a slightly embarrassed face as Derek carefully puts the files in her bag and grabs her keys again. “We’re going in my car.”

“Is it bad that I’m a little scared to even touch your car?” Stiles half jokes as he turns the light off behind them.

“I can always put you in the trunk if that would make you more comfortable.”

When they finally get back to her car, she realizes maybe Stiles was joking a little less than she thought. He kind of lingers by the tail end, eyes bugging when Derek pushes the button and the suicide doors open backwards.

“This is the sexiest car I’ve ever seen in my life. What’s her name?”

“Sugar,” Derek answers honestly. She saw the pure white color of the paint, and it was either that or ‘Cocaine’.

He finally settles into the black seats, eyes hungrily taking in the sight of the interior while Derek starts the car, and now that she sees the look in his eyes, maybe it isn’t the best idea to take it after all. Where would she even park a car with diamond and sapphire encrusted headlights? On the curb by a parking meter?

Derek scoffs at the idea, pulling out of her two spaces (douche move, she knows) before carefully exiting the garage. She would ask to go in his car, but again he bikes to work so she’ll just have to make a quick trip home. Luckily, her car goes fast.

By the time they make it to a private garage under a swanky looking apartment building, Stiles is clutching the door and seat with white knuckles. Derek drives like a maniac. Like someone who truly does not give a singular fuck about death. His legs feel like jello as he scrambles out of car.

“Are you trying to kill us?!” he gasps, actually light-headed from holding his breath the entire eight minute drive. An eight minute drive that should have taken twenty minutes at the _least_.

“No?” Derek shrugs, retrieving her bag before sauntering over to a sleek, black Camaro. He vaguely remembers this being her car in high school. “Come on, we don’t have all day. Get in. We’ve got a forty-five minute drive ahead.”

Stiles pales. “But Burbank is an hour and a half away,” he whimpers pathetically, getting into her car nonetheless.

Through his peripheral vision he can see the evil smile spread across her plump, red lips. Oh no.

••••

Derek turns up the radio about halfway there. It’s some news station blathering on about rising frequency in gang related activity, and for some reason she’s interested in it. One of the show guests makes a statement about how law enforcement is cracking down on the issue and Derek scoffs to herself with a small smile.

“Don’t have faith in the police?” Stiles asks with a defensive edge to his voice, as if she’s attacked him personally. Probably because his dad’s one of the few morally upright sheriffs in all of history. You know, as morally upright as a cop can be. But he’s in Beacon Hills. They’re in Irvine. It’s a very different environment in Southern California.

“Not when half the police _are_ in the gangs.”

“How do you know?”

Derek takes her eyes off the road for a moment, giving Stiles a curious smile. “Curiosity killed the cat, Stiles. Why do you want to know?”

“Because...” There’s a minuscule pause in his sentence which immediately exposes his next words as being a lie, or at least, not the whole truth. “I mean, I don’t exactly live in the best part of town. I need to know if I should buy pepper spray and a heavy purse.”

Derek scoffs, pushing her too-long hair off her shoulder. “You should buy a Glock and a Kevlar vest.”

“Again, how do you know?”

“I would tell you, but I’d have to kill you.” Derek knows Stiles is smart, knows he can sense the underlying seriousness of her words under her joking tone. And it’s not a lie. She would literally have to kill him. Or get somebody else to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the next chapter is when things pick up.


End file.
